


Forgiveness

by DigiArt_Studios



Series: Friends of Fluff [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 23:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14152077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigiArt_Studios/pseuds/DigiArt_Studios
Summary: Tord hasn't been been taking care of himself after the Incident so Patryck and Paul decide to take him out to a restaurant to help him.





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you like this! This is the start of a little fluff series for Eddsword!

3 years.

3\. Whole. Years.

It's been 3 years since the Incident. The incident where I went too far and killed Jon. The incident where I tried to kill _them._  The incident where I got my scars. They haven't gone away like Pat and Paul said they would. They still remind me of the Incident. They laughed at how stupid I was. They laughed at my anger issues. . . They still do.

"DAHM IT!" I shouted as I slammed my _right_  fist against the table. No pain. I even heard the table crack as it protested against my * _robotic_ * fist. I could hear it. The laughter. _"You hurt your old friends! You're such and idiot and an ass, and what do you do instead of fixing it? YOU LOCK YOURSELF IN YOUR OFFICE AND NEVER COME OUT! YOU STARVE YOURSELF OF FOOD, HAPPINESS, FORGIVENESS, AND SLEEP! IT'S LAUGHABLE!"_

"STOP!" I shouted. I gripped my face with my hands and shut my eyes, shaking uncontrollably. I could feel my rough and scratchy face. Most of it was from the scars, but it was also because I was so unhealthy. My scars were right. . . I was so afraid. The guilt crushes me everyday like an anvil in a cartoon, and with each passing day it gets heavier and heavier. I don't know how much more I can take. I-

"Boss?" The familiar, worried voice of Paul came muffled from the other side of the door that was across my office. His voice was followed by some knocking. "Go away. . ." I said. I didn't even finish that simple sentence. I just, trailed off. "Dear God. . . Your voice is sounding worse and worse," Now it was Patryck. His voice sounded so worried. Why? Why? Why are they so worried? I took a second to think. My voice does sound awful. It sounds like a cat clawing at a chalkboard while yowling and hissing, mixed with a Norweigan accent.

I didn't even notice that they had opened my office door and had walked over to me. Am I that out of this? Am I that unhealthy to notice? Or am I just stupid? Stupid as Matt. "You look awful," Paul said. I didn't look at him. I crossed my arms and set them down on the cracked table, then lied my head on them. Just a little rest.

"Boss?" Pat and Paul asked. What were they saying before? I could barely understand. "Tord?" Pat asked, he poked my face. "Hva, hva?" I muttered, still not even glancing at them. Wow. I didn't even realize I spoke Norweigan. "We're really worried about you," Pat said. No dur Sherlock, the only emotion I've seen on you for a year is worry. "We're taking you outside to a restaurant so you can actually eat and drink and spend some time away from the base," Paul said as he pushed himself into the conversation. Patryck silently nodded.

"Nei. . . Nei. . . No. . ." I said with slurred words. I'm so tired. I don't have the energy to go out. "What if someone sees me? I could get arrested," I said with even more slurr. Patryk sighed. "I thought you would say that," he said. He looked at Paul and gave him a nod, ordering his friend to do something. Paul sighed as well, and pulled out a peice of paper from his uniform. It was newspaper from 3 years ago. The date was maybe a week after the Incident. I was too devoid of health, emotion that isn't guilt, and energy to react with shock like I should've.

**_Tord Larsson, Wanted Leader of the Red Army Dead in Explosion._ **

Huh. Well I'm still not going. I don't want to leave my office. I want it to be where I take my final breath. "No. I'm still not going. . . They can still recognize me?" I can barely think. How unhealthy am I? . . . _Very._  I smiled a bit. Good. I'll die sooner and be less of a burden to Paul and Pat.

"It's winter you know. Lots of snow and ice. You would know that if you bothered to use your calender," Paul said, flicking away his crumbled up cigarette like it was an annoying bug. What did that have to do with anything? And was it really winter? I thought it was fall. . . I groaned. "You can wear your scarf to cover most of your face," Pat said.

"Fine. . ." I muttered. It's not like they were going to take "no" or "nei" for an answer.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We were in the restaurant. I was honestly suprised it was open. Most of the roads were closed because of ice and an upcoming snowstorm. There were a few employees here and there was only one other group here. Paul and Pat forced me to wear a fluffy red coat, winter boots, a fluffy red and white striped scarf that covered most of his face, and earmuffs. I had my hood over my head. I kept my winter stuff on in the restaurant. Paul and Pat _were_  wearing some winter stuff, but didn't bother to keep them on. We were waiting for the waiting for the waiter.

I lied my head on the table. My robotic right eye kept making annoying whirring sounds, complaining that it needed to be fixed. "Boss," Patryck said. I looked at him and groaned in response. "Walter's here," Patryck said. Oh. . . I looked up and saw the waiter with a notepad. I had no clue he was there. . .

"What would you like to drink?" He asked me, raising a brow. Water? Yeah I want some water. "Wa-. . . . Cola," I said. It took my brain a second to realize I ordered the wrong drink. The waiter walked away, and I immeadiatly banged my head on the table. Paul and Pat chuckled, so I glared at them. The other group in the restaurant were laughing alot. It hurt my head. I want to just go up to them and yell at them. My sleepy brain started to force my body to shakily get up. My legs transformed into noodles and I started to fall, but I luckily caught myself on the edge of the table.

"You okay?" Pat turned to me and asked. Without even more thinking, I blurted out like I was drunk, "I'm gonna tell that table to shut it." Paul grabbed my jacket and pulled me back to the table.  "No you aren't," he said. I growled and sat back down in my seat. I then realized that it was like 400°. "Are you okay?" Pat asked. I shook my head "no". I felt like I was an egg being boiled. "Hot. . ." I said. I could feel sweat dripping down my face.

"Take off your jacket and scarf," Paul said.

"Nei! I'll be seen!" I shouted, getting a weird look from the other group, which made my face go more red than a tomato.

"You have a robotic eye, robotic arm, and scars littering your face. Plus everyone thinks your dead. You really think someone's going to notice you?" Paul said. I shook my head "no".** **"Tord."** ** Paul said, loudly. I groaned loudly. "Fine!" I growled through clenched teeth. I slipped off my jacket, revealing my gray t-shirt, my scarf, and my earmuffs. I'm not going to lie, it felt much better.

"Better?" Pat asked. I glared at him and rolled my eyes. Causing my pilots to chuckle.  I could hear the other group's chatter. Then one of them say, "Did that man say 'Tord'?" * _Shit._ * They know who I am. They're going to call to the police. "Paul!" I growled. Rage and fear filling my tired body. I could hear a chair scrape against the wooden floor, followed by footsteps. I saw Paul and Patryck start getting a gun or something out of their coats. I took a deep breath and turned around.

It was Edd.


End file.
